


Home

by FreeShavocadoo



Category: HiGH&LOW (Movies), HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Childhood, Fixation, Introspection, Motivations, Ranmaru is pretty f'ed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: He hears the younger members of Doubt sometimes discussing the moral quandary that is human trafficking, drug dealing and dirty money. Part of him wished he could see beyond the flow of cash and the exchanging of fists and power. Those who didn’t bleed and stand back up are weak. He can hardly be blamed for not being at the bottom of the food chain.Perhaps he is weak after all, then. He was definitely bleeding, but he wasn’t back on his feet just yet.





	Home

“Did you start this fight?”

The voice seems like it’s a million miles away, until it reaches down and chokes the air around him.

“You have a beautiful face.” The voice is layered with the promise of pain, the hand tangled in his hair is probably covered in blood by now.

 _Good._ Ranmaru thinks. _All things beautiful bleed._ He smiles, all too aware of the pain that will undoubtedly follow. _Funny. Like I’ve not been hit a million times harder than this by people twice the man you are, Zenshin._

What seems to be the tenth stomp lands on his head, reminding him he’s alive. Bleeding so much he can barely see, but alive none the less. Nothing new. Ranmaru always feels he has to die a little before he truly lives. He knows his eyes are blurring to black but he insists on keeping them open, fighting through the sting of the sweat and the blood passing past his eyelashes. All too aware of the beginning echoes of heavy bruising. Ranmaru resists the urge to laugh- Zenshin hasn’t even managed to crack his ribs effectively.

He sees the crowd of Yakuza, blurred round the edges, only the bottom trim of their pristine trousers and their shined shoes. Ranmaru can’t help but find the sight nostalgic.

 

_“You think you can steal from me, punk?”_

_Ranmaru lies on his back next to the coffee table, all too aware of the searing pain in the back of his head, the blood trickling onto the carpet. It’s not as if this is a first-time occurrence._

_“You didn’t make it hard, old man.” He croaks, staring up at the face of a man who calls himself ‘father’ but has never raised anything other than a gambling debt and his own blood pressure._

_“What did you just say to me?” A hand fists itself into Ranmaru’s hair, pulling him upright in one swift movement. The hard floor bites into his knees, his entire bodyweight pulling against the grip his father currently has on his hair. The creak of the door opening seems to startle them both briefly, before it is shut._

_“See? You’re worthless. Your own mother can’t even stand the sight of you.” His father growls, pushing him back onto the floor in a fit of rage. Ranmaru lies there for what seems to be an eternity, the kicks slowly dulling into taps. He stares at the kitchen door, wondering if his mother is sat on the floor behind it. Is she crying? Maybe. Not for him, though. It didn’t matter how many times Ranmaru was dragged across the living room floor and beaten within an inch of his life, that door remained closed, as did her mouth. He could still remember her words after the first time. ‘Don’t fight back, Ranmaru. It’ll only be worse for you’._

_As his father lays down the final kick, he’s resolute. No man or woman will ever touch me like this again without punishment._

Ranmaru is vaguely aware of Takano shoving him hastily in the back seat of a car. Ranmaru can’t help but admire the interior- red. His favourite colour. He can remember the shop he bought his fur coat from, can remember the smell. A slight musk, overlaid by the scent of some form of fabric softener. When he’d walked home he’d made sure to start a fight, refusing to keep his coat soft and artificially fragranced. After all, if you’re wearing red, they can’t see you bleed.

He wonders where Rocky is, no doubt he’s been taken off to hospital, surrounded by men stained with blood and grime.

 _White._ Ranmaru scoffs. Rocky had always been weak. His softness for women made him easily tainted no matter how much white he dressed in. They all say his mother and sister died. Ranmaru can’t help but wonder what difference it would’ve made if his mother had never been around. He scoffs again. It’s not as if she ever was.

He remembers Hirai having a conversation with Takano in what they assumed was private, referring to Rocky and himself as being on two sides of the same spectrum. Takano who’d stated that both Ranmaru and Rocky were shaped by their past with women but chose a different remedy. Ranmaru disagrees. Rocky took it as a moral lesson, an initiative to break a cycle of female suffering. Ranmaru simply decided to prevent his own suffering. After all, he hated most things equally. Why should women be exempt from that?

He hears the younger members of Doubt sometimes discussing the moral quandary that is human trafficking, drug dealing and dirty money. Part of him wished he could see beyond the flow of cash and the exchanging of fists and power. Those who didn’t bleed and stand back up are weak. He can hardly be blamed for not being at the bottom of the food chain.

Perhaps he is weak after all, then. He was definitely bleeding, but he wasn’t back on his feet just yet.

 

_The woman is dumped at his feet, her sharp intakes of breath being the only sound in the room after Takano exits, the door slamming shut behind him. Ranmaru just hopes she won’t cry. If there’s one thing he cannot stand, it is tears for the sake of survival._

_“You escaped.” He murmurs, kneeling down to look at the woman. Her wrists shake as she holds her body weight up to a seated position, but she stares him dead in the eyes. Ranmaru can’t help but be transfixed by the blood lining the corner of her mouth. Clearly when he’d told them to avoid the faces of women who escaped, one of the idiots didn’t listen. No matter._

_“I want to go home.” She whispers, staring intently at him. “Please.”_

_Ranmaru can’t help but wonder what her home must be like. After all, she’d come to them in the first place, like most of the women do. ‘Protect me, please’, ‘I owe a few debts and need protection’, ‘I’ve got nowhere to stay’. They were all desperate. Some were more fortunate than others in the jobs they received but if they were desperate enough to show up here, they should be desperate enough to stay._

_“What home?” He whispers, moving her hair behind her ear, noting the way she shakes at his touch but doesn’t break eye contact._

_“Anywhere is better than here.” She spits out, her hands shaking furiously as she shuffles backwards across the floor._

_Ranmaru briefly considers just calling Takano back in here and getting him to lock her in a room somewhere for a while to shut her up. The other part agrees entirely. Anywhere is better than here. But he’s here anyway. He supposes it’s supposed to be the universes idea of penance for the life he’s lead. But he also supposes the way he treats others is penance for the way they treated him._

_“Go.” He growls, lifting her up by her dirty coat and shoving her out. She opens her mouth to speak but decides otherwise, rushing down the corridor and out of the door. Takano stares questioningly at him, but Ranmaru says nothing._

_It’s not as if anyone else would understand._

 

“We’re home.” Hirai whispers into his ear, helping Takano pull him out of the car. Ranmaru’s head is aching, his hands completely numb and his eyes too blurred to see two paving stones ahead of his own feet.

“ **Home**.” Ranmaru sniggers. “What the hell is a home, anyway?”

**Author's Note:**

> So I fancied something different and well, Ranmaru is a pretty difficult character to write for since he's hardly the nicest guy.  
> Hopefully it is interesting enough.


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